


Just A Painting

by AkitoAnemone



Series: Artist AU [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Artist AU, M/M, i might do some editing on it later, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitoAnemone/pseuds/AkitoAnemone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto isn't usually too fond of art, but when he stumbles into his local museum one day, he absolutely falls in love with a painting by an up and coming young artist named Iruka. Makoto is determined to improve his art skill, so he stops by the museum often to try and sketch the painting. Along the way, he meets a mysterious young museum worker named Nanase Haruka.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this prompt from Marukaprompts: http://marukaprompts.tumblr.com/post/66088552902/proper-love-story-material-right-there

Makoto Tachibana didn’t usually frequent museums, especially art museums. He liked history museums, except for the spooky parts like the mummies, but even those could be interesting. Art museums, however…Well, Makoto wasn’t the best at art. He was actually pretty awful at it. Drawing, painting, singing, even creative writing. You name it, Makoto couldn’t do it, and it just frustrated him to look at it. Especially the art that just looked like squiggles on a white canvas. When Makoto did that, it was garbage, not a masterpiece.

But, of course, the college he had chosen to go to had a required art class for all first year students.

What kind of college had a required art class? Makoto asked himself whenever he had to go.

He looked down at his paper, shading halfheartedly with a red coloured pencil. Makoto didn’t even know what he was drawing anymore. The assignment was to draw a tree, and it had started out as a tree, but now it was something like a cross between a car and a cactus.

“Are you trying to fail art?” Makoto jolted as his teacher appeared over his shoulder. “That’s not a tree.”

“It’s a modern tree,” Makoto tried, but his voice always shook when he talked to his art teacher. It was the only subject he wasn’t at least decent at.

His teacher rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m assuming you don’t want to fail?”

Makoto nodded.

“Have you ever been to an art museum?”

He shook his head. “Maybe once on a field trip in grade school? Art has never really been my strong point, so I’ve never really liked it.”

“Well, do you at least know there’s a museum just down the street? You can get in for free since you’re a student.” She picked up Makoto’s drawing and studied it. “I strongly recommend you go and try to learn something.”

That’s how he ended up at the art museum on a saturday, with apparently nothing else to do. None of his friends wanted to go with, even the few art majors, so he was alone, and kind of lost.

It was overwhelming. So he would pick a room and sit, for twenty minutes to half an hour, he’d just look at what was in his sights. If something kind of interested him, he’d get up and read the little plaque, but mostly he just stared trying to make some sort of sense of it.

So it’s a woman and a dog, so what? It’s supposed to have some sort of deeper meaning, right? Then what is it?

It’s just a statue. Why is this in a museum?  
Those are just random shapes!

He’d walked almost a complete circle of the museum, about to abandon the last few rooms in favor of going back to his apartment for some art-less relaxation.

“I’ve heard that he’s only eighteen...and he’s already got an exhibit in this place! In the front room, too!”

“Yeah, what’s with that? I don’t think his art is all that great compared to some of the other stuff in here.”

An artist the same age as Makoto? With stuff in this museum? He went through the door that the guys had just come out of and was greeted with dozens of paintings of various sizes, all in shades of blue.

Makoto stared in wonder. Not all of them were explicitly the ocean. Some just used various lines in shades of blue, while others were almost too realistic depictions of the water, but they were all, without a doubt, the ocean.

For some reason, Makoto loved them. Each painting called out to him like no other art had before. “Are these all by one person?” He found himself asking, to no one in particular.

“Yeah.” A guard standing nearby answered. “His name is Iruka. A young artist.”

“Oh,” Makoto said, and continued walking around. He saw all of them three times before he realized he kept getting pulled back to one in particular.

It was a medium sized piece, maybe three feet by two feet, and it was absolutely stunning. The water was sparkling, and the sky was clear, and even though it wasn’t done in a realistic style, Makoto felt like he could just dive right in. There was a lighthouse on the shore, on top of an island of grey rocks, but the lighthouse looked kind of run down. The glass was broken, and the paint was peeling off. Waves were crashing against it, sending rocks tumbling into the water, but somehow the destruction made it more beautiful.

It was absolutely stunning.

There was no bench right in front of it, so Makoto made to sit down on the ground. He wanted to just look at it, and absorb everything he could about it.

“Hey, you can move the bench,” the guard said, stopping Makoto as he was in the middle of crouching. “I don’t know what that painting just did to you, but it looked pretty powerful.”

Makoto blushed, snapping out of his stupor. “I’m sorry…” he said, walking over to the bench and dragging it to the area of the painting. The guard walked over to help.

“No, don’t be. Art like this can have some powerful effects on people. It’s no question why this guy got this exhibit. He deserves it. I heard that he’s got galleries all across the world lined up, waiting for these paintings.”

“Oh.” Makoto’s voice cracked. Such a young person could do all of this, and he was just a mediocre college student failing a beginning art class. He sat on the bench and resumed looking at the painting.   
Maybe he’d come back with a sketch pad. That’s what art students did, right? Try to copy famous art? He’d seen more than a few art students in his visit, and he’d heard people in his class talking about it, too.

He’d thought it would be weird before, copying someone else’s art. But for this, he felt it would be fine. He felt like it was calling for him to do something with it.

 

Makoto was back bright and early the next morning, turning down a friend’s invitation to go see a movie.

Normally, he loved seeing movies. They were a form of art he actually liked, and he respected people who were able to handle the stress of the film industry, but there was something more important he had to do.

He didn’t have an actual good quality sketch pad, like most of the other students did. His sketch pad was something he’d had since middle school, that an obscure aunt had bought for him, thinking he’d enjoy it. No, that was a different nephew of hers.

With that, and his usual mechanical pencil, he’d have to make due.

The bench was still in the same spot he’d left it, though a different guard was now on duty, and he took his place with dignity, pulling out his paper and pencil like he was someone who belonged there.

He did belong there, as much as any other art student did, anyway.

Making the first line was the hardest. He didn’t know how to get his water to take the shape of Iruka’s water, though he knew he could always erase it later.

He decided just to get it down once and then do it again and again until he was satisfied.

“You wanna take a lunch break, kid? It’s almost one and you’ve been here since we opened.” Makoto jumped and turned to look at the guard.

“Ah, thanks. I’ve been concentrating really hard on this.”

“Yeah, I could tell. How’s it looking?”

He leaned to the side to allow the guard access. “I haven’t really drawn before,” he said, noticing the guard’s slightly amused expression. “This is the first thing I’ve really wanted to get right.”

“Well, it’s a start, isn’t it? Do your best.”

During lunch, Makoto analyzed it. His lighthouse looked more like a palm tree, and the rocks like clouds. He wasn’t sure what the water looked like, but it definitely wasn’t water. He sighed, not wanting to give up, but feeling like he should. He was going to fail either way, so why put any more effort into it than necessary?

No, he couldn’t give up. He threw his trash away, along with the first draft of his sketch, and went back to his spot.

 

There was a man sitting in his spot. He turned toward Makoto as soon as he got close and stood up.

“Oh, there you are. I saw you sketching earlier, but then you weren’t here. I didn’t know if you’d left already.”

“Huh?”

“I just wanted to know what you see in this painting.”

Makoto was confused, especially because he didn’t even know what he saw in it. “I just like it. I’m not sure exactly why. Do you work here?”

“Yeah, Haruka Nanase,” he said, looking past Makoto at the painting. “Not a lot of people seem interested in this one, so…”

“Makoto Tachibana.” He sat down again, and the guy--Haruka--sat on the opposite end of the bench. “I don’t usually like art, but for some reason, when I saw this one, it just made me...I don’t want to say rethink my life, because that sounds really cheesy, but it made me think about art differently. Or something like that.”

Haruka nodded, and continued to stare at the painting, sometimes looking to the paintings around it as well. Makoto watched him for a minute. He was shorter than Makoto, with black hair and big, blue eyes. He was thin, too, and very well dressed--though most of the museum staff were--in a vest over a white button down shirt and black pants.

“Are you drawing it?” Haruka asked, suddenly, looking over Makoto, who jolted at the realization that Haruka probably realized he’d been staring, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yeah. Well, trying to at least I’m not really the best at art so my teacher sent me here and--”

“Can I see?”

“It’s not really…” Makoto sighed, flipping to a blank page of the sketch book. “I threw away my first sketch because it wasn’t any good. I’m going to try again now.”

Haruka stood up quickly, like he was insulted. “You shouldn’t throw anything away when you’re an artist,” he said, and walked away.

Makoto could do nothing else but watch him leave. He said something to the guard, deadpan, and the guard laughed, before he left the hall.

He guessed Haruka was right--he did work in a museum and all--if he threw every bad draft away, how would he know if he’d improved, and how would he remember what he needed to improve on? He turned back to the painting with renewed confidence and determination. For some reason, he felt like he’d let this guy down, so he wanted to make a good sketch to show what he could do.

Ten sketches and thirty seven frustrated groans later, the museum was closing. “Hey, you should probably pack up now.” Somewhere in that time, the guards had changed, and it was now the original one from the day before.

“The other guard told me you’ve been here since opening. How’s it coming along?”

With a deep sigh, Makoto showed him the sketch he was happiest with. “How is it?”

“...Well, I’m not an artist, but...it’s...interesting.”

“I know it’s awful. I’m not an artist either.” It was better than it was, though. The lighthouse actually looked like a lighthouse, and the ocean like an ocean.

 

Makoto was drowning. Rain was pouring down, jumping off of the choppy ocean surface, and Makoto was drowning.

He’d lost sight of the shore and could only tread water for so much longer. He was already past the point of exhausted, and it was getting hard for him to breathe getting hard to breathe, with his throat sore from swallowing salt water.

He just...couldn’t anymore. Why was he even in the water in the first place? The next wave swallowed him whole and he didn’t have time to think of an answer to that before Makoto was under.

 

Makoto woke up gasping for air and drenched in sweat, face down in his pillow. He hadn’t had that dream for a while now.

Three years ago, Makoto had almost drowned in the ocean. He didn’t like to think about it. He didn’t like to think about the ocean at all.

Which is why it was weird that his fear of the ocean hadn’t even entered his mind when he had walked into the room with Iruka’s paintings the week prior. They were all of the ocean; calm, stormy, or otherwise, and of course Makoto knew that, but it hadn’t connected.

These paintings, especially the one--his painting, were something truly special.

 

He hadn’t gone to the museum during the week at all, but he’d told his art teacher about the experience, and she’d suggested that he go as often as possible now. One, so he could improve that awful drawing he’d done, and two, because it was having such a good effect on him.

 

“I used to be a swimmer.”

It was two weeks later, and he’d been running into Haruka more and more. If he was there, he’d always show up about twenty minutes after Makoto sat down and would just sit and watch him draw, sometimes offering the occasional tip. Makoto had asked if he was an art student, but Haruka had shaken his head and said he just knew a thing or two. They talked sometimes, mostly about Makoto. Haruka was an excellent listener.

“You’re not anymore?”

“I almost drowned three years ago. I was in the hospital for a week afterwards, and it took me a year before I wasn’t afraid every time I got in the bath. I haven’t been swimming since then.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t even think about the ocean, but then here are these paintings, and I’m more at peace than I’ve been in a long time. I think I had my last nightmare over it last week. It felt like an end.” Makoto put his pencil down and looked at his sketch. It was amazing how much he’d improved in such a short amount of time. “I kind of wish I could just shake Iruka’s hand.” While that was mostly true, Makoto was convinced he’d fallen in love with whoever had painted these now, rather than just the painting. It had changed him in a way he’d never thought possible.

There was silence, and Makoto looked over at Haruka, who was staring at the painting. “This is the last week. I think they’re going to Italy next.”

“Oh, right, they’re leaving,” Makoto smiled, and saw Haruka looking at him. He could see through Makoto’s smile for sure. “It feels like I’m going to lose a friend.”

“Since this is his hometown, I’m sure there’ll be more. They won’t be the same, but it’s still something.”

Makoto looked up at his painting--no, it wasn’t his. He wished he could refer to it as something else, but it was untitled, and ‘his painting’ sounded better than ‘the painting’ because it wasn’t just a painting.

But it was…

Just a painting.

“Hey, why are you crying?” Haruka didn’t seem alarmed. He was looking at Makoto like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing.

Makoto shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well don’t get it on your sketch. You did a good job that time.”

 

His art teacher was impressed with him for once. “You did this yourself?”

“I did,” Makoto nodded, not feeling as proud as he should have been. It was the last day, and he was itching to get to the museum. He wanted to sit with the paintings, and absorb that feeling as much as he could.

And he wondered if talking to Haruka would be the same after the paintings left. They could still sit on that bench, but what if they were surrounded by the modern line paintings he still hated so much. That wouldn’t be the same.

Haruka had become a good friend over the past month. Makoto hadn’t told Makoto much about himself, and Haruka hadn’t mentioned much, either, but he felt like he could talk to Haruka about almost anything.

He bolted as soon as class ended, and was in his spot within ten minutes. The air was different in the place. The exhibit had run it’s course, and though it was still impressive, people knew it was on its way out. The signs that the hall would be closed the next week were already up, and the only people there besides Makoto and the guard were visitors just passing through.

It had been half an hour and Haruka hadn’t shown up yet, so Makoto watched his--the--painting with a renewed interest. Since he’d been talking to Haruka, new details had revealed themselves, which Makoto would have never noticed on his own.

There were shapes hidden in the rocks. A heart, a dolphin...Haruka had told him there was a dolphin hidden in all of the paintings, that Iruka had put them there just for fun, because painting got tedious sometimes.

“Do you paint?” Makoto asked. With the way Haruka talked about art, he was obviously an artist of some sort.

“I do,” he said with a shrug. “I like drawing better, though, but I’ve been told I’m more talented at painting.”

 

Finally, after another hour, Haruka appeared next to Makoto on the bench. “Sorry, it’s a lot of work preparing to move exhibits. I knew you were here, but I was in the middle of stuff.” They were both staring straight ahead at the painting.

“No, that’s okay. Of course you’re busy. You don’t have to stay if you have stuff to do.”

They both knew Makoto wanted Haruka to stay. “I’m done for now.”

After that, neither of them spoke. A few times, out of the corner of his eye, Makoto saw Haruka open his mouth, like he was going to say something, but he didn’t, and Makoto didn’t ask.

 

“I hate to ruin the little thing you have going here, but it’s closing time. Past it, actually. I was hoping one of you’d notice by yourself,” the guard said, walking out of the room.

Both Makoto and Haruka jumped. “Well, I’ll be going then.”

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not going to,” Makoto said, with a real smile. “I’ll be seeing you, right? Just with a different room?”

Haruka nodded, walking away ahead of Makoto. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said to the room, and the paintings, and the bench, and he turned off the lights.

Makoto followed him out and they parted ways. He didn’t cry until he went to bed that night.

 

He stayed away for that whole week the room was being renovated. It was amazing that he even got the courage to go in after that, because even just walking into the museum, the feeling had completely changed. There was a flood of art students on opening day to see the new exhibit, and he no longer saw anyone he recognized. Even the guards were different, and his bench wasn’t in the hall anymore.

The new exhibit was all shapes and patterns in bright colours. Like he predicted, it was his worst nightmare. He did give it an honest chance, but he felt nothing from it. Except maybe hatred, but it was for the wrong reason.

He walked back into the main hall determined to find Haruka. Makoto realized Haruka hadn’t actually ever told him what his job was.

Ah, staff directory. Makoto flipped through the little pamphlet, looking under both Nanase and Haruka just in case, but he wasn’t in there.

“Hey, Makoto, have you seen the new exhibit yet?”

Makoto glanced up and saw the guard. He was in plain clothes now, not his uniform, so it must just have been his day off. “Yeah. It’s not really my kind of thing. Listen--”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he said, laughing “Oh, right! I have something for you. Can you come with me a second?”

“Sure, but have you seen Haruka?”

He led Makoto into an office behind an unnoticeable door. “I’m pretty sure it’s in the back room; just wait here a minute, okay?”

“Yeah, but--” The door was slammed before Makoto could finish his question again.

He tapped his fingers on the desk and observed the guard office. There were art books everywhere--was this actually the guard office? Ah, he saw the pile of nightsticks in the corner. The computer monitor on the desk was ancient, and Makoto wondered if it would even turn on.

“Here it is!” the guard exclaimed, coming through the door with a large, paper covered rectangle and an orange envelope. “Take these home with you, okay? I’ll take you to the front entrance so you can get out safely, but get home right away. You don’t want to lose this.”

“Okay?” Makoto took the rectangle and the envelope, and then was quickly ushered back out of the office.

Ten minutes later--ten minutes of struggling down the street with a large rectangle--Makoto was comfortably inside his house.

Which first? Rectangle or envelope?

Rectangle.

He tore the paper like he was opening something a thousand years old, ritualistically and precise.

And didn’t believe what he saw.

“It’s not mine,” he said out loud, staring at the painting he had revealed. The lighthouse, and the rocks, and the water were all staring him in the face. “I’m going to get arrested for art theft.”

Before he got any farther with that thought, he decided it was a good time to open the envelope. Inside was a certificate of authenticity for the painting and a letter.

 

_Makoto,_

_I probably should have asked if you really wanted it, but I was pretty sure. I’d never had anyone look at my art in the way that you did. You may not have understood it, but at least you didn’t make up your own stupid meanings. You just appreciated it for what it was, and I’m honoured that you fell in love with this painting. So it’s all yours._

_I’m sorry I had to leave, but I go with my paintings, and since I can’t split into pieces to physically go with all of them, just imagine that a little bit of me is there for you to talk with._

_I will be back next year, and I’ll have a lot of new paintings for us to stare at for hours. I hope that’s not too long._

_Also, when you weren’t looking, I took your sketch out of your notebook as a little thing to remember you by. I consider it a pretty equal exchange, my art for your wonderful rendition of my art, and I hope you’re not mad about that. I doubt you’ve even noticed it’s gone._

 

Makoto hadn’t noticed, and he got up to check--it was gone, and on the page that was behind where it had been, there was a little ‘thanks’ written in blue pen.

 

_I hope to see you opening night of my next exhibition. You’ll be receiving a ticket from our lovely guard friend before the event, so make sure to still go to the museum every once in a while._

_See you soon,_

_Nanase Haruka_

_a.k.a Iruka_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruka travels with his paintings, and struggles with his art.

 

Italy was nice, but it was nothing compared to Japan. The food just wasn’t as good, the people weren’t as nice, and the museum didn’t like Haruka hanging around all the time.

“Sir, please, the workers here are very competent, and they can watch your paintings just fine.”

Even though he had a translator, Haruka pretended he couldn’t understand, and went to check on his exhibit anyway. He really couldn’t understand, though. All he was doing was walking around, not disturbing anyone. At least he didn’t think he was. Haruka wasn’t underdressed, and he didn’t smell...he just looked like a normal visitor. It struck him suddenly, though, that it was probably the fact that he was a young, Japanese man, and the artist was also a young, Japanese man, and that wasn’t necessarily good for secrecy.

But Haruka decided that he didn’t really care.

He walked over to where that painting was supposed to have been. The one he’d replaced it with wasn’t as good. It was the ocean, of course, on a sunny day. A bird was diving into the water, and there were a few fishermen on the shore. He liked it just fine; in fact, the museum was ecstatic when he told them this painting would now be with their exhibit, not even caring about the reason he’d pulled the other one. The fishing painting, as he called it, because it was untitled as most of his paintings were, was one of his older ones, and one of the ones that brought the art world’s attention to him.

Looking at it now, though, it was nothing special. All of the paintings in that hall were exactly the same to Haruka, because no one was looking at them like Makoto had. Even though he couldn’t understand anything anyone was saying, he knew it wasn’t anything worth listening to.

They were all eyeing his art like they were critics, and he hated that. Well, critics were good sometimes. They helped him improve, of course, but these were just regular people thinking they knew what they were talking about. He’d heard it all before.

“Ah, I love how he used the colours. The different shades of blue give off a feeling of sadness and melancholy.”

“He’s such a genius. His use of shape and perspective is fantastic for someone his age.”

It was frustrating when no one saw his art the way he did.

“I’m leaving,” Haruka told his translator, who had been following behind him, trying and failing to make conversation every few minutes.

Because of the messy nature of his painting, the museum had to rent Haruka a house, as he wouldn’t have been able to paint in any hotel room, and he took the long way back to it, admiring the city. The buildings really were beautiful, and he thought it was a shame that he just wasn’t comfortable.

A house was better than a hotel, he realized, unlocking the door, but it still felt so empty. He wasn’t comfortable at all staying there in a country where he knew no one.

He missed Makoto.

An idea struck Haruka suddenly, and he grabbed his sketchbook from his bag, sitting down right where he had been standing in front of the door.

He didn’t always sketch his paintings before he painted them; in fact, this might have been the first time he’d done so, but if it worked out how he wanted it to, he anticipated it to be his most important painting yet. He sketched for hours, forgetting about dinner, and only pausing to take a bath.

Eventually, when he was falling asleep while drawing, he decided to call it a night. There were twelve different sketches he’d done of the painting, and he’d look them all over the next day to see which he liked the best.

 

In London, he started painting. Well, he’d been painting. He’d tried to paint it four times in Italy, but each time it hadn’t turned out how he’d wanted to, so he’d burned all of those attempts. In between, he’d painted other things for the London exhibit, and critics were calling those paintings the best he’d ever done, but of course Haruka didn’t think so.

Because he had to get this one right.

So he picked up a fresh canvas, bigger than he’d been using before, and after making sure everything was going okay at the museum, shut himself in his room and started to paint.

When he painted, he tried not to think about Makoto, but everything about his job made him think of the brown haired guy back in Japan.

He realized he was being stupid. Of course he should think about Makoto while he painted. If Haruka was going to miss him anyway, then why not incorporate that into his painting.

After making a few adjustments to his sketches, he picked up his brush, mixed his paints, and set out to work.

By nightfall, there was paint all over the floor, and Haruka, and he was fed up what he’d gotten done of the painting so far. It was nowhere near finished; it was just an orca in the center of the canvas. No background, and no other figures; just an orca.

 

He wasn’t sure why he’d painted an orca, or kept painting orcas until he was in France. His biggest exhibit yet.

He didn’t stay in the hall at all for this one, after the preliminary check. Pretty much any time he wasn’t eating or sleeping, Haru was drawing.

Other than trying to paint that piece, Haruka just couldn’t get a hang on much of anything else. He painted a few things, but with the water being so choppy and grey all the time, there just wasn’t much room for inspiration. So he drew. He drew everything. People, buildings; the only thing he didn’t draw was the ocean, because that was what he painted. About once a week, he tried again on that piece.

Though he’d tried painting different variations of it, the one with the orca in the center was still his favourite.

The orca was Makoto. He was already starting to forget Makoto’s words, and his smile, and how concentrated he looked when he tried to sketch Haru’s painting, and when Haru really tried to think about him, the first thing he game up with was an orca swimming in the open sea.

An orca, and he was a dolphin, swimming among all of the fish.

 

It took him three whole weeks to get the sketch right, but for this piece, he didn’t throw away the hundreds of variations. This one was special, and none of the drafts were really rejects.

When he got back, he wanted to show Makoto everything that went into this one, drafts and all. He wanted nothing more than to hear how Makoto would feel about this piece.

Haruka had realized recently, that he was, in fact, probably in love with Makoto.

That hadn’t really happened before. He’d had his fair share of girlfriends and boyfriends, but they’d all confessed first, and Haruka had broken up with them when they complained he spent more time with his art then with them.

Of course he did. He’d been painting a large part of his life. He couldn’t be expected to just put that away for someone he’d known for all of two months. His art and any significant other had to learn to live side by side.

Haruka fully believed that Makoto was possibly the only person of the world who could learn to live with his art, and even love it as much as he did.

And he was completely disregarding the fact that he didn’t even know if Makoto liked him back, because he was so sure he did.

If he like Haruka’s art so much, he had to like Haruka, too, right?

 

He finished the piece the morning it had to be displayed. The opening for his first exhibit back in Japan was that night, and he hadn’t been able to confirm that Makoto had gotten his ticket.

His phone rang just as he lay his brush down. “Yeah?”

“We need that painting now or we’re going to display something else. We would have already, but you’re so insistent that it be that one.”

“It was in that magazine last month, that I’m working on it, and that it’s special. People want to see it. You’re not going to put up something else. You can wait a little longer.”

Haruka almost wanted to keep the painting for even longer after it had dried, just to mess with the museum, but figured he shouldn’t be a jerk, because he really did like the place. He’d missed it, and it felt like home after all of the foreign museums.

As the afternoon wore on, Haruka finally felt the painting was ready and wrapped it up to take.

The museum staff didn’t know what to think. After it was put up, a large group of them just gathered around and stared at it.

“I see what you mean,” one said, and Haruka figured it was the one he’d talked to on the phone earlier. “I mean all of these paintings are fantastic, but this one is…”

“I know,” Haruka said. “It’s called ‘The Orca.’” He’d decided on the name then and there.

“It has a name?”

There was a groan. “Now we need a different plaque for it. Your other ones don’t have names.”

“I could name all of them right now, if you want me to.”

 

Makoto.

Haruka saw him walk into the hall from across the room. He sat on the bench--their bench--waiting to be seen.

All of the paintings in the hall were new, a collection of what he’d painted during his time away, but the one he’d been working on since the first day in Italy was the one re really wanted Makoto to see. There had been a small crowd around it all evening, obscuring his view of it.

It was his newest masterpiece. An underwater landscape of a dolphin and an orca swimming together amongst a school of fish. The orca and the dolphin were extremely detailed and realistic, while the fish were drab and grey, hastily painted. All evening, Haruka had been subjected to overhearing theories about what it meant.

None of their theories were correct. He was glad their bench had been placed far away from the new painting; he would have pulled it away himself if it had been any closer. It was too much to hear.

Though he had been told not to draw any attention to himself. Secrecy, and all. But here it was easier. Most of the people were Japanese, and quite a few of them were his age, since the college was so close, so he had no trouble fitting in.

“Haruka!” He’d lost sight of Makoto, lost in his thoughts, and startled when he heard his name.

Makoto looked better than Haruka remembered him: tall, kind of clumsy looking, and very, very attractive. “Makoto.”

“How’ve you been?” He asked, taking a seat. “This is our bench, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” There was a scratch on the side of the wood. That’s how he knew.

“How was Italy? And where else did you go?”

“London and France. They were interesting, but I missed home.”

They sat in silence a minute. It was weird--the spark that originally got them talking was gone. “Oh! Thank you for the painting,” Makoto said, standing up to bow. Haruka went wide-eyed and told him to sit down.

“It was nothing. It was yours since the day I first saw you looking at it.”

Makoto just gave him that smile of his. “So all of these are new?” he asked, gesturing to the paintings. Haruka nodded.

“They’re separated by where I painted them. We’re sitting in front of France.”

“Do you wanna give me the tour?” Makoto was looking at the paintings behind them, ecstatic.

Haruka nodded. “But there’s one I don’t want you to see until everyone else leaves.”

They made small talk while Haruka told Makoto about the paintings. “So you got your ticket all right?”

“Yeah. Nagisa--the guard--made sure to come in every day after he got it, so he’d be sure to catch me.” Makoto paused to look at the work they’d come to stand in front of. “Where’d you paint this one?”

“London. It was pretty cold and rainy all the time. Not too good for inspiration,” Haruka said. The painting was more grey than blue, and more rain than ocean.”I think I painted the least there. I drew a lot.”

“I haven’t seen your drawings, have I.”

Haruka’s drawings were private. No one had seen them since he’d gotten famous for his paintings. They said his drawings weren’t anything special. Anyone could draw like that, but his painting style was absolutely unique. “I’ll show them to you sometime.”

The hall was finally clearing out, just as the two finished going through the London paintings.

“Just a few more minutes.”

“Where did you paint the one you want to show me?”

“I started it on day one of my exhibit in Italy and didn’t finish it until this morning, but it was already getting press a month ago.” He shrugged. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it early, but reporters are so nosy.”

They ended up back on their bench, staring at the painting in front of them--a France painting--and watching the people slowly dribble out of the room. “Do you not like getting so much attention for your art?”

Again, Haruka shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I mean, I don’t need another job anymore, but I don’t like being in the public eye. That’s why I decided to use a different name. I just don’t want my art, or myself, to be judged differently because of it.” He stood and stretched. The last person had finally left the room, and their guard friend, Nagisa, was walking towards them. “My art’s already suffering, but I can’t do anything about it.”

“Haruka, It’s nice to see you again! How’ve you been?”

“Fine. Glad to be back.”

“I bet,” he said, gesturing toward the room. “But you’ve done a fantastic job on these paintings. Are you two staying here a bit longer?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you when we’re leaving.”

“Alright. I’ll be in the office.” He walked away and Haruka grabbed Makoto’s hand, tentatively, but firmly.

Makoto turned as red as he possibly could. “Um…”

“I want to show you.” He led Makoto to the painting by his arm, and Makoto put his hand over his eyes. “Alright, look.”

Slowly, he lowered his hand, and he saw.

It took him a moment, but when he realized what it was, he broke down in tears, and fell to his knees, and Haruka, still holding his hand, wasn’t exactly sure what to do. “Are you--”

“It’s beautiful,” Makoto managed to say through his sobs.

Haruka sank to his knees next to Makoto. “It’s called ‘The Orca.’ I figured I should name this one.”

“I don’t even know what to say, Haru. Just...why?”

The sudden nickname took Haruka by surprise, and he blushed. “I missed you,” he said simply, and Makoto hugged him like he’d never hugged anyone else in his life. “Makoto…” He started, and Makoto let go to wipe his eyes. “I’m going to be staying here a while, and...I was wondering.”

“You’re asking me out?”

Haruka nodded and blushed more as Makoto’s smile grew even wider. “You understand what no one else does. So?”

“Of course I’ll stay with you, Haru.”

They stayed in the art hall, sitting on the floor, holding hands and looking at Haruka’s painting, until finally they were told to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to make this two chapters instead of more parts. So this concludes the main story, but there's at least two more parts coming! If you want to see anything with artist!Haru, please suggest it. Constructive cristisism, comments, and Kudos are appreciated, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/constructive critisism/kudos are appreciated. This AU has been eating away at me the past week and there will be more.


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